The Professor Doesn't Hate Me

"Your magic is much more active and explosive than that of ordinary people, and you are currently in a period of rapid magical growth. Therefore, the effect of the Magic Stabilizer in quickly replenishing depleted magic is excessive for you, which is what triggered the magical riot."

"It's not a big problem, and in the long run, it's even beneficial for your development. You'll just have to trouble Professor Snape to re-adjust the Magic Stabilizer according to your physical condition to suit your constitution."

Eliana recalled Madam Pomfrey's words from her second visit to the hospital wing. She nervously clasped her hands, lowered her head, and stood by the cauldron, then secretly glanced at Snape, who was stirring the pot opposite her with a dark expression.

The scene felt a bit familiar.

Eliana timidly spoke, "Professor Snape, thank you so much..."

Snape snorted coldly.

Eliana lowered her gaze, "You've really gone to a lot of trouble. I don't know how to thank you enough..."

She said obsequiously.

Snape paused his stirring hand, and without looking up, cast a detection spell at her before scooping a ladleful of potion from the pot and pouring it into a bottle.

"Drink," he commanded.

Eliana eagerly stepped forward to take the potion. It was scalding hot, fresh from the cauldron, but she didn't dare to slack off. She blew on the surface to cool it, then took a small sip.

She had never drunk such a terrible potion before. It was spicy, bitter, and had a rotten sourness that assaulted her mouth, then corroded its way down her throat, churning and dominating her stomach along with her stomach acid.

After finishing the entire bottle, she felt tears welling up in her eyes, and her soul felt like it was about to ascend.

"How does it feel?"

It feels a bit like dying.

Eliana was about to blurt out her answer when she suddenly realized Snape was asking. She quickly pinched herself to adjust her demeanor.

"I feel a warmth in my stomach area, and it's slowly spreading outwards," she gestured, then obsequiously leaned closer, "Your potion is so effective... You're the best teacher I've ever met, both in terms of professional ability and caring for students. I'm so lucky to have met you at Hogwarts."

"Shut up."

Snape's lips twitched violently, as if he was disgusted by her.

But Eliana felt he wasn't truly angry. She continued to cling to him, grinning with her little fangs showing in a fawning manner.

Snape glanced sideways at this shameless, fawning little sycophant, but he didn't say anything to drive her away.

He added some grayish-brown bark and a few broken limbs of strange-looking animals to the mixture.

Eliana winced as she watched.

"Drink," he said concisely.

Eliana gulped it down.

"How does it feel?"

"Professor, your mastery in the field of potions is truly unparalleled. To be able to adjust a recipe for different individuals in such a short amount of time..." Eliana noticed Snape's gaze and quickly changed her tune, "It's burning, spreading to my limbs. My magic seems to have become more abundant."

More ingredients were added to the pot.

Another bottle of the potion was downed.

"How does it feel?"

"Professor, I think you're more suited for the first page of the Potions textbook than Arsenius Jigger," Eliana flattered, then smacked her lips, "It feels like the magic power supplement I drank for the first time. My magic feels like it's about to overflow."

Snape remained noncommittal. He casually used the empty potion bottle she handed back to lift her chin and narrowed his eyes to look at her pupils.

More scattered ingredients were dropped into the pot. This time, Snape didn't even speak, merely tapped the bottle with his knuckles.

Eliana gulped it down.

"Hmm?"

"Professor, you... blech!!!!"

Eliana didn't even have time to go through the motions of flattery. She clutched the potion bottle in pain and crouched down, feeling as if she had swallowed a rabbit covered in fermented excrement, which then kicked its way from her tongue to her stomach.

How could such a vile taste exist in the world!

She gagged so hard she almost coughed up her entire throat.

But Snape showed no sign of displeasure at his potion being rejected. A subtle hint of satisfaction, as if a wicked plan had succeeded, appeared on his dark, cold face.

He raised his hand, cast an advanced detection spell, and then extinguished the flame under the cauldron.

"Pour the rest of the potion yourself. Come back to me after you've finished it tomorrow."

"Ah," Eliana's mind took a while to recover from the assault of the vile potion. She shivered all over, "I'm looking at it, it seems like there are three or four bottles worth?"

Snape said lazily, "One bottle each in the morning, noon, and night, because of Miss Richie's unique magic."

He looked with satisfaction at Eliana's thunderstruck expression and added with ill intent, "Drink it before meals."

Eliana's tears were about to flow. She trembled and tried to struggle weakly, "Before, before meals? But this taste..."

What was the difference between this and drinking a bottle of feces before a meal?

Especially one with pop rocks that would bounce around in her mouth and on her tongue.

Even though she wasn't a picky eater, this was still a bit too challenging?!

Snape said with ill intent, "I think this might make our genius young lady hesitate the next time she decides to play the hero."

Eliana nearly died in his office.

"Good morning, Eliana," Ron mumbled, grabbing a treacle tart from the table and yelping from the heat. "It's rare to see you at this hour."

"Is it because you haven't recovered yet and need more rest?" Harry asked with a hint of worry.

Hermione looked over nervously, appearing ready to carry Eliana to class at the slightest whimper.

Sharing an experience is the best way to forge friendships. If that experience is life-threatening, opposed by almost everyone, and ultimately successful, then the bond between those who went through it grows exponentially—defeating a troll perfectly fits all these requirements.

However, because Eliana had been in and out of consciousness for the past two days, shuttling between the hospital wing and the dungeons, the other three had spent more time together and grown closer.

But Hermione seemed to feel she had dragged Eliana down. Coupled with the daily potions she had to drink, she felt even more guilty, believing the lingering injury was from saving her. Now, every time Eliana went downstairs, she had to grip the railing, afraid Hermione would suddenly scoop her up and carry her down.

She wasn't that fragile, though.

"Bad morning," Eliana said grimly, staring at the small potion bottle before her with a look of profound suffering.

"Why aren't you eating? Today's tarts are good," Ron said, chewing with his cheeks full.

"Thank you, Hermione, I can dip it in jam myself," Eliana said, her face drooping. Just as she was about to curse the dreadful potion, she forced a strained smile. "And I don't need sausage either, I can cut it myself."

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, steeled herself, and gulped down the potion.

"Ugh, cough, gulp, gurgle, argh."

Eliana trembled, burying her head in her chest, her forehead pressed against the table. Her black wizard robes enveloped her, making her look like a dazed little bat, muttering nonsensical syllables.

Ron, startled, jumped back, holding his half-eaten tart and sliding a considerable distance on the bench.

"Did you mutate? I knew Snape would poison your potion! How could you drink it? He hates Gryffindor!" he shouted in panic.

His emotions were too intense, and he completely forgot to control his volume. His loud voice not only echoed across the Gryffindor table but was clearly heard elsewhere.

At the staff table, Snape coldly cut his steak. He met Dumbledore's teasing gaze, then indifferently looked away, as if he had heard nothing.

Amidst the sudden silence, Ron belatedly realized something and his face turned ashen.

He started to tremble too, and without daring to look back, he tugged at Harry's clothes, his voice a strained whisper: "Was I… a bit loud just now? Is Snape up there?"

Harry answered him with a look of tragic resignation.

Before Ron could think of a remedy, a pale hand struggled out from under the table, looking like a white bone emerging from black mud against the backdrop of dark robes.

Eliana, who had been curled up in the dark, twisted space under the table, slightly raised her head. A gap in her falling black hair revealed a pair of pitch-black eyes, glaring menacingly.

"Oh my god!"

Ron, who had just made eye contact, plopped back onto the bench.

Eliana hadn't recovered from the potion's vicious attack yet, but her hand had already found a baguette on the table.

WHAM!

She hit Ron's head like playing whack-a-mole.

"You're not allowed! To say! That! About! Professor! Snape!"

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

"Professor Snape brewed medicine for me! He worked hard! It's my problem if I can't drink the potion!"

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

"The Professor doesn't! Hate me! And definitely not 'the most'!!!"

WHAMMMMMMMMM!!!!

Ron felt like his brains were being mashed smooth, and little birds seemed to be chirping in his vision.

"Chirp."

He mumbled vaguely, unsure of what he was even answering.

Dumbledore on the stage winked mischievously at Snape. "Severus, I told you long ago that you'd make a good professor. Look how popular you're becoming with the students; they defend you so much."

He looked quite pleased.

"I can hardly see 'them'," Snape said coldly, looking up. "As for Miss Richie—after drinking so much of my potion for free, anyone with a shred of conscience and intelligence should defend her generous potion supplier."

His dark eyes fixed on Dumbledore. "Wouldn't you agree, Headmaster Dumbledore, who drinks tooth-strengthening potions like water?"

Dumbledore sheepishly averted his gaze.